Hello again! Has it been five days since I last posted already? I know I should have been spending more time writing this week, but I’ve been pretty busy. How busy, you ask? Well, I’ve been spending my evenings watching seasons 1 through 4 of House on DVD, and not doing anything else, so pretty frickin’ busy.
While I was watching the show, I kept thinking of how it would be fun to review an episode and act like one of those high falutin’ TV writers. They’ve got a pretty sweet gig, what with spending their days dissecting the minutiae of today’s awesome assortment of quality programming. With shows like The Bachelorette, The Bachelor, The Bachelor’s Gay Buddy: Cruising for Love, and The Bachelorette’s Friend From That One Time She Experimented in College: A Time to Settle Down, the positive glowing reviews practically write themselves!
It looks pretty easy to me. The only problem was, after watching about 267 hours of House, I couldn’t really pick one episode to review, so I decided what the hell, I’ll review the whole series in a tidy little synopsis. We’ll start with a quick introduction to the main characters to get you up to speed. Here we go!:
From left to right: Drs. Foreskin, Crampon, and Gayce (House’s Medical Team or kids, I’m not sure which); Dr. Gregbert House (Main character probably, the show has the same name); Dr. Cunty Sluddy (Oops! Almost lost my NC-17 there! She’s everybody’s boss); Dr. Wimpson (House’s friend or lover or conscience or something).
The show generally opens with an old or young or medium age person having sex, doing something, thinking about doing something or not doing anything or maybe doing a thing. That person twitches or pukes, or convulses, or has a coma, or drops a bowel or swears at, pukes on, or has explosive diarrhea on someone they love or something, indicating, apparently, illness of some sort. After the opening credits which feature neat medical looking pictures of some stuff that looks medical-ish, the series dialogue between the characters is generally as follows:
Post-Credits Opening Scene; House discusses patient’s case with Medical Team/Children:
House: What’s the differential diagnosis for this stupid loser patient guy/girl/man/woman/Thai Ladyboy?
Foreskin: House, every patient is not a loser just because you have leg issues and a cane you handicapable honky racist douchebag!
Crampon: Maybe it’s Lupus. Or a Lupus-like disorder. Or a disorder that acts like Lupus to throw us off. Or maybe a Lupus-like cancer. Did I mention my husband died of a Lupus-like cancer? If only I had thought of the cancer before I treated the Lupus.
Gayce: My hair looks like this when I roll out of bed. No shit, exactly like this. I know you aren’t believing me, but why would I lie about my hair? C’mon Crampon, want to touch it? No? Foreskin? House? No? Well, fuck all of you then.
House: Foreskin, I would make a black joke at your expense, but it would be wasted on you because you are black. Crampon, your husband committed suicide because you can’t say a sentence that doesn’t contain the word “Lupus,” and I totally understand that feeling now. Gayce, I lied. Yes, I would like to touch your hair, my little Australian Barebacker, I mean “Outbacker.” Long story short, you are all goddamned morons, and I am going to cure the patient myself after I cook up an Eight Ball for breakfast, because that’s what brilliant cranky doctors all over America do. That’s right, folks, all over America. The patients overlook the junkieness for the brilliantness.
Next Scene: House meets patient in attempt to figure out mystery ailment:
House: I’m Dr. House, I’ll be curing you today, you loser/homo/lady homo/retard/dipshit/kindly old patient who is probably a child molester or Iraqi insurgent.
Patient: What’s wrong with me?
House: You, your family, and your unborn children are too stupid to understand anything I might say, so I am not going to talk to you. I am however going to drill a hole in your head or do a lumbar puncture/MRI/Ultrasound/Psychiatric profile/Anal probe or take a swab so I can find out your problem, you useless waste of skin and air.
Patient: Golly, you sure aren’t very nice! (Followed immediately by seizure or vomiting of blood, or vomiting of vomit, or vomiting of urine, or vomiting of lung; maybe vomiting up a coma).
Next Scene: Sluddy tears a strip off of House for his unethical actions:
Sluddy: House, I can’t believe you Anal Probed a patient! Without their consent! With an MRI machine! In the library with a candlestick and Colonel Mustard watching! What’s wrong with you? And stop looking down my shirt and at my ass and up my skirt! It’s “Business Casual,” not “Office Slutty,” asshole. If you pull one more stunt like this I will threaten to fire you if you pull one more stunt like this!
House: Would it help if I told you that during the Anal Probing, I was thinking of you?
Sluddy: It might.
Next Scene: Wimpson tells House he is dead on the inside and will never be loved by anyone:
Wimpson: House, you are dead on the inside and will never be loved by anyone.
House: Fuck you. So are we still on for lunch in the cafeteria? Your treat? Remember to bring me a dimebag of Vicodin too, you “Up with people” freak.
Wimpson: Sounds good! Noon ok?
Final Scene: The big cure, or sometimes not. But mostly, yeah:
Foreskin, Crampon, or Gayce: Gee, who would have thought it would have been (insert unpronounceable and possibly nonexistent medical condition here), and that we could cure the patient in time? Or in about one out of five shows, not cure the patient in time?
House: What do you mean we, do you losers have a frog in your pocket? Now get out of my sight, I have a hooker coming in to the office for an Anal Probing MRI.
The End.
As one can obviously see, House is a series filled with tense medical situations, morality tales, and a monstrous, unshaven, talking asshole. What more could you possibly want in your TV viewing? Well, I agree, it’s no Full House, but really, what is?
